


Misery

by Slythendor



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, atreus being a sassy shit, kratos being overprotective, some body horror, you know the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:33:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slythendor/pseuds/Slythendor
Summary: This is why Atreus fears humans more than Gods.





	Misery

**Author's Note:**

> God of War has convinced me to upload my first fic in literal years. Many thanks to the GoW discord for helping me with plot ideas, and of course a huge thank you to my beautiful beta reader Charlett. This has taken me an embarrassingly long time to write, but I'm very happy with the result.  
> This is a monster story.

This is why Atreus fears humans more than gods.

* * *

 

It's been three months of Fimbulwinter when they find it. While the humans have started to come out of hiding with the lessening of the Draugr, the animals have become harder and harder to find. Crops cannot grow as the ice and snow on the ground never entirely melts, even when the sun is high in the sky. The Lake of Nine has frozen over, Atreus can now walk all the way to Tyr's temple - not that his father would allow it. Meat is hard to come by, and most days the roots around Mom's garden are the only food they have to eat.

Which is why, when Atreus spots the first wild boar in weeks, Atreus and Kratos spend all day tracking it, the opportunity too valuable to lose. They wait until Atreus has the perfect line for his shot, and then follow the boar for another half an hour. By the time they finally come across the body of the boar, Atreus could cheer. The cold doesn't bother him like most, but he's tired, and hungry, and nearly salivating at the thought of the first bite of meat in ages.

Atreus runs up to the boar and retrieves his arrow from the boar’s neck. He looks up, and sees a dark stain against the white snow. He takes a few steps away from the boy, examining it, eyes tracking ahead.

“Boy.” Atreus will never know how his father is capable of communicating entire phrases just in one word. In this case, ‘boy’ means “what are you looking at, is it important, because I’m going to assume it’s not unless you say something, and we don’t have time to look at unimportant things.’

“A blood trail.” Atreus replies. “It can’t be the boar, ‘cause it’s not fresh. See?” He points at the oxidized blood, dark brown spots against the white snow. The spots lead off into the woods, into a darker area that Atreus can’t see into. The snow in that area is also disturbed. Kratos steps away from the boar, and examines the trail.

Kratos lets out a low grunt and starts following the trail of blood. Atreus shoulders his boy and follows along.

The trail of blood is sporadic, sometimes just a few scattered droplets, sometimes a concerningly large amount of dark brown staining the snow. The thing that worries Atreus the most, however, is the trench in the snow that appears alongside the stain of blood, as if someone had kicked it up with their feet. There are no tracks because of how rustled the snow is, but apart from someone purposefully disturbing the snow to cover their tracks, the only thing that could trample the snow this much was several steps of footsteps. Or something being dragged.

Or someone.

After a couple minutes of following the trail in the snow, Atreus notices something in the trees. It’s attached by a nail to the tree, hanging higher than Father’s head. Five sticks have been tied together with twin to create a vague human figure. When Atreus sees the first, he doesn’t say anything. But then there’s a second. And a third. The more they follow the trail, the more figures appear among the trees, until they seem to hang from every branch.

“What are those?” Atreus asked in a hushed voice. The following answer is predictable.

“I do not know.” Atreus wishes that they had brought Mimir along with them, the head would probably have valuable information. “Stay close to me.” Atreus nods, and stays light on his feet. He could string his bow in a second if need be.

After another tense minute, the trail leads to a small clearing in the woods. Atreus notices the smell first, and hears the buzzing files second. As he enters the clearing, he notices the entire circle of trees covered in the stick figures. The snow has been trampled all over the clearing, and the fresh layer of fallen snow doesn’t obscure the numerous stains of blood. But it’s what’s in the center of the clearing that makes Atreus gasp in horror and stumble back.

It looks like a giant metal tree, seemingly embedded into the earth, with harsh metal branches reaching out into the sky. It’s the color of steel, glinting in the dim light of the clearing. Each end of the branches don’t gently taper off like a real tree - instead they come to a sharp point, like one of a dragger. And hanging off of one branch, shoved through his shoulder like a hook, is a child.

“What…” Atreus says, unable to hide the shaking in his voice. Kratos’s grip on his axe tightens.

“Stay here,” he says, and walks towards the tree. Atreus watches him for a few moments, then follows. He has to know.

The nausea at the back of his throat only increases as he closens. The child hanging off the branch is female, with long brown hair, wearing a red tunic that doesn’t completely hide the bloodstains. Her hands are tied together, and her feet dangle uselessly in the air, swaying slightly in the wind. But the worst part of it all is that the girl has been gutted. An open wound runs from her sternum to her lower stomach. Her flesh seems to have been torn to the side as well, as if someone pushed her skin out of the way. Atreus can see the bones around her lungs where they were cracked like a crab’s shell. But on the inside, where entrails and muscle should be, there’s nothing, only flesh that’s just started to rot. Someone - or something - has cleaned the insides out.

It’s too much. Atreus turns over, and throws up what little he has inside his stomach. He hears Father’s footsteps behind him.

“I told you to stay back,” Kratos says, although not unkindly. Atreus wipes his mouth, and keeps his gaze down at the soiled snow. He can’t turn to look at the girl again.

“What is this?” he asks.

“I do not know,” Kratos replies. “We need to leave.”

Atreus doesn’t argue at all. He stays closer to his father than usual on the walk back, which Kratos doesn’t seem to mind. They both say nothing, but at every noise Atreus snaps his head to find its source. When they make their way back to the boar, they find that it had already been ravaged by other hungry animals, flesh torn apart until only skin and bones remain. .

Atreus doesn’t mind. He’s lost his appetite.

* * *

 

It’s not long after they make it back to the cabin, brushing off snow, that Atreus consults Mimir. The head has oddly become a fixture in their lives - Atreus managed to build a little shelf specifically for Mimir, complete with a book stand. His first attempt was incompetent enough to be considered dangerous, but after seeing his resolve Kratos showed his son how to make a suitable stand. Now Mimir rests on a comfortable stand, with a spot to prop up a book for him to read. It’s not much, but it’s about the most they can give to a decapitated head.

“We found something in the woods.” Atreus says. “There were loads of little figures. Like these.” He holds up his sketchbook, showing the drawing he made of the stick figures. “And then later - we found-” He pauses, the image of the girl’s corpse still haunting him.

“The corpse of a child on a metal tree.” Kratos finishes for him. “It was...mutilated.”

Mimir frowns, the two bright lights in his eyes narrowing. “Oh, dear. That can’t be good.”

Kratos’s face sours. “Head-”

“Yes, yes, explain before you use me for target practice,” Mimir finished for him. “You don’t have by any chance a drawing of that tree?”

Kratos looks at Atreus. The boy doesn’t want to spend any more time thinking about that scene in the woods, but at the same time he can’t not know. He nods and picks up his journal and charcoal again, quickly sketching out the tree in broad strokes. He tries to focus more on the shape of the tree, instead of the girl, with glassy eyes and shattered bones-

“Boy.” His father’s voice brings Atreus back to reality. He quickly finishes the drawing and holds it up to Mimir.

“All the branches were sharp, like knives.” He explains. “The...uh...corpse was on one of them.” He quickly puts his journal away, making a note to tear out the page later when Father isn’t looking. He has to be strong.

Mimir frowns even more. “Yes, definitely not good.”

“Did a monster do this?” Atreus asks, sitting on his bed. Kratos is standing with his arms crossed, the light of the fire illuminating his features. His face is unreadable. “Like the draugr, or a troll?”

“Not quite, little brother,” Mimir explains. “Those branches - those are the symbols of one of the old Gods.”

Father’s face darkens like is always does whenever gods are involved. Atreus has gotten used to it. “Like Ymir?”

“Not even. After stealing the secrets of Vanir magic, Odin...experimented,” Mimir explains. “As his hunger for power and knowledge was insatiable, he tried areas of magic the Vanir had long since forbidden. Such as creating life.”

Atreus’s eyes widened. “He...made Gods? Out of nothing?”

“Not out of nothing, Laddie,” Mimir answers sadly. “Out of blood, and innocents, and souls that will never find peace. Nor was he successful. Everything he created was savage and wild, hardly the warriors he hoped to create. They were just as likely to turn on their masters as their enemy, and so - as Odin does with most things he doesn’t like - he cast them down to Midgard.”

“But they could hurt people!” Atreus protested.

“The Gods do not care, boy.” Kratos respondes. The response is almost automatic.

“Aye, brother. The Eymd, as they were called, would rip any living creature they found apart. But over time, they would retreat, as humanity because more and more suited to fight them. What you found is...something different. An Eymd itself wouldn’t have created it.”

“Then...what did?”

“I wish I knew, laddie,” Mimir responds sadly. Atreus frowns, unsettled.

“If we find this Eymd, we will kill it,” Kratos says in a voice that leaves no room for disagreement. “Until then, we will stay alert.”

Atreus nods, and doesn’t bring it up again. He tries to put it out of his mind, and for a while distracts himself by checking all his arrows, making sure the shaft is straight and the point is sharp. He redoes the notches on a few of them, being careful not to cut too deep. Father is busy repairing some of Atreus’s fur tunics, he’s started growing too fast to stay in his old ones. With the cracking sounds and warmth from the fire, Atreus feels some of the events from the day slip away.

But at night, while he lies in bed, listening to the wind howl outside, he pulls his fur blanket closer around him. When he falls asleep, he dreams of trees that turn into metal and boney branches turning into hands, reaching out and grabbing him. He wakes with a gasp, and if Kratos notices, he says nothing.

Atreus sleeps little that night.

* * *

 

The next few days are uneventful. Kratos tells Atreus not to wander off more often, but between hunting for food and quelling the Dragur, the event in the forest are quickly put to the back of Atreus’s mind. Atreus doesn’t mention the corpse and the tree again, and neither does Kratos.

Currently, he’s finding himself knee deep in snow, where he’s been for the past half hour, waiting for an elk to make its appearance. Kratos has headed off in the other direction, finally content to leave the boy by himself. The falling snow around him doesn’t make him cold, but it is annoying. He’s been still so long that a small pile has collected on his head and shoulders, and his legs ache. But a sudden movement might scare away an animal, and they need the meat.

He hears the snap of a twig, and turns his attention to see a brilliant stag start to make its way towards him. It’s still too far away to ensure that Atreus can make the shot, and he waits for the animal to slowly trot closer. It looks around, but Atreus is perfectly still hidden behind a rock, and the stag approaches.

Slowly, he pulls an arrow out of his quiver, and notches it. He focused on the stag, who’s sniffing the ground for any remnants of food it can find. He slowly pulls the arrow back, and aims right behind the shoulder of the stag.

A piercing scream rings through the woods, and the stag bolts. Atreus rushes to his feet, looking around for any sign of danger. The voice was high pitched, and desperate. Another scream rings out again, and Atreus starts towards its source, deeper into the woods. Someone needs help.

He quickly leaps over the rocks and branches in his path, having long since grown accustomed to the terrain of the wilderness. When he grows closer, he could hear distinct words among the screaming.

“No no please, please don’t, let me go-”

Atreus starts running even faster, a sick feeling in his stomach. Distantly, he can hear his father’s voice calling out in the woods, but he can’t even think enough to respond. The screaming is close by when he pushes through a thick bramble of dried branches, and stumbles into a clearing. The scene he comes across makes him freeze.

There are two men kneeling, one standing in between the others. They are wearing dark fur tunics that look ragged and shabby, hardly suitable for keeping out the cold. In front of them is the same wicked tree that was in the clearing a few days ago, and just like before, a child is hanging from one of the branches, the spike shoved through their shoulder. Their red blood is already dripping down into the white snow. There are also more of the stick figures hanging off the other branches, swaying eerily in the wind. Atreus can hear a low chanting, almost obscured by the howling wind.

Before he can respond, before the men notice his presence, the man that’s standing raises a knife high. With a yell in a language Atreus doesn’t recognize, he plunges the knife in the child’s chest.

“No!” Atreus cries out, and in one smooth, practiced motion he notches an arrow, aims it at the man holding the knife, and fires it. He staggers as the arrow strikes him in the back, and he lets go of the knife, now embedded in the child’s chest. The other two men now turn towards him, and Atreus can now see their faces - they have charcoal smeared around the eyes and the mouth like a ghoulish mask, and they look gaunt.

One of the two men pulls a knife and starts running towards Atreus, but Atreus’s second arrow is already strung. “ _Pruma!”_ He shouts, and the arrow strikes the man on the right side of his chest, sparking with electricity. He goes down immediately, and Atreus knows he’s not going to get back up.  
Dealing with the first man, however, has given the second one a chance to run up to Atreus. He jumps out of the way as the man swings a crude hunting blade at him, features distorted in a grimace.  Atreus sidesteps a wild swing, and kicks the man in the stomach. He doubles overs in pain, and Atreus raises his bow and hits the back of the man’s head with the handle. The man falls over. Another down.

Atreus turns, and sees the man he shot first staggering towards him - walking seems to be quite difficult at the moment, given that he still has an arrow in his back. Atreus runs up to him, and kicks him in the chest. He falls over in the snow, coughing and cursing.

“Damned brat-”

“What are you doing?!” Atreus roars, and kicks the man in the stomach again. He can feel the world around him start to narrow to just one point: the murderer on the ground and the dead child hanging from a tree. His blood pounds in his ears, and he struggles not to draw his knife. “Why did you kill them?!”

The man coughs, and blood comes out. “Gifts...for the Eymd.” Atreus feels a sick horror in his stomach when the man looks at him and actually _smiles_ , red across white teeth. “We bring the children. The Eymd grants us power.”

“You’re sick.” Atreus responds. He can feel his hand holding on to the bow shaking. “I’m gonna stop you.”

The man shakes his head, and coughs more blood onto the snow. “More...of us. You can’t stop…” He raises a bony hand at points it at Atreus, fingers trembling.

“You’re...next…”

“ _Atreus!”_

The boy turns, senses going into overdrive at the call. He sees his father barrelling into the woods, axe drawn. He looks at the two men lying motionless on the ground, and up at the tree. His face is dark as he approaches Atreus. “What happened?” He asked curtly, looking at the child hanging from the tree. Now that Atreus looks up, he can tell that it’s a boy, about the same age as himself. He’s wearing a blue tunic, and his eyes are closed. Almost as if he were sleeping.

“I got here too late,” Atreus said, and feels a rush of shame. He hears shallow breaths, and looks down, seeing that the man he shot is still clinging to life. He wants to draw his knife and end the murderer’s life, but he will die soon anyway - Atreus knows that he pierced an organ.

Kratos turns back to look at Atreus, eyes quickly taking in the boy’s form. “You are unharmed.” Atreus knows his father’s tone well enough to tell that he sounds relieved.

The man on the ground lets out another rasp, and Atreus can tell that he’s trying hard to speak. It can’t be long, now. “The Eymd will come,” he whispers, “And your children are not safe. It needs to feed.”

Atreus doesn’t pull his eyes away as the man gasps for breath a few more times, then slowly lets out a breath. He lies there, incredibly still, eyes open and glassy. Soon the hungry animals will arrive, and feast on any semi-warm flesh they can find. The men will be torn to pieces in not even an hour.

“Good.” Atreus whispers.

* * *

 

When Atreus and Kratos finally arrive back home, Atreus’s limbs are heavy with exhaustion. He follows Kratos has his father pushes the door open, and haphazardly tosses his bow and quiver down on the table. He lets himself fall onto his bed, bouncing a bit as his back hits the straw-filled mattress. All he wants to do is fall asleep, and try to forget about the day.

“Boy.” Atreus turns to look at his father, still standing. He kneels down, so that he’s at eye level with Atreus. Kratos said nothing on the walk back, other than to scold Atreus for running off on his own. But now his gaze seems to look straight through Atreus, pinning him in one spot. “What happened?” he asks again, but this time softer. Wanting to listen.

However, Atreus doesn’t want to talk. He looks up at the ceiling. “I told you. I heard screams. I went to investigate, and the three guys were there around the tree. They attacked, and I took care of it.”

“Tell me the truth, boy.” Kratos warns, his voice growing deeper. The image of the dead child flashes again in Atreus’s mind, and his resolve increases.

“I am telling the truth,” he says, and turns around so that his back is facing towards Kratos. Time to sleep.

Predictably, he feels a large, strong hand grab him by the shoulder and pull him around so that he’s facing Kratos. The grip is firm, but not rough. Yet Atreus can tell by looking in his father’s eyes that he’s not going to wiggle his way out of this one. “Atreus. Tell me everything.”

Once again, his father manages to fit a diatribe in a single phrase. Atreus can tell from Kratos’s look and tone that this sentence means, “I’m not buying your bullshit, I’m offended that you thought it would even work on me, and so help me you had better tell me everything before you get put on firewood duty for a month.” And Atreus hates chopping firewood.

Finally, Atreus sighs, and looks down. “Like I said, I heard the scream in the woods,” He begins, voice soft with exhaustion. “I started following it, and I could hear someone begging. I found the place with the tree, and there were the three guys there. The kid...was on the tree, like the other one.” A shudder runs involuntarily through his body, and Atreus can feel the hand on his shoulder squeeze reassuringly in response. Looking up at his father, Atreus isn’t even sure that the comfort was intentional. “Right when I got there, they stabbed the kid in the chest with the knife. I fired, but I was too slow.” He shuts his eyes, thinking about what would have happened if he were just a bit faster. Someone’s child would still be alive.

“I heard you talking with one of the men,” Kratos says. “What did he say?”

Atreus swallows hard. He really didn’t want to talk about this part. “He said that...the children were gifts for the Eymd. That in exchange, the Eymd would give them power. And he said they were others.”

Kratos makes a low noise in the back of his throat, sounding dissatisfied. “Head. What do you know of this?”

Mimir, who has been listening intently this entire time, looks grim. “I’ve heard rumors of sacrifices being given to the Eymd but...I didn’t think it was true. And offering children…” He makes a noise of disgust. “The Eymd are wretched creatures, feeding off of misery. Pain and anguish nourishes them like a fine steak fills a mortal man. It is true that they can protect mortals from a manner of aliments...yet everything comes at a cost. No Eymd would give power away without receiving something in return.”

“Why children though?” Atreus bursts out, unable to keep the question to himself. “They didn’t do anything wrong….”

“The anguish of a grown man is nothing compared to that of a child’s ripped from their home.” Mimir says darkly. “The more they suffer, the more the Eymd gets to feed. It’s what makes the creatures so despicable.”

Atreus thinks of hands grabbing him, and pulling him away from warmth and safety. He can almost feel rope wrapping around his limbs, and hands hoisting him up. Something sharp and cruel pierces him through his shoulder, and he opens his mouth to cry out -

“Enough.” Kratos says, and Atreus is pulled back to reality. He blinks rapidly, feeling a bit as if the world is spinning. Kratos stands up, and Atreus feels a bit lonely as the warmth of his hand is pulled away. “We will deal with this tomorrow. Now, you need sleep.”

Atreus just nods, happy to crawl into bed. He barely pulls off his armor and fur tunic before disappearing under the covers, ignoring the way his father carefully watches him, as if at any moment Atreus might do something unexpected. His body feels heavy from the moment he lies down, and soon he’s lulled off into sleep. Thankfully, he doesn't dream. There is only darkness.

* * *

 

Atreus waits until it is nearly midmorning to bring up the events of the previous night. He comes back in from the garden, arms full of roots he had dug up. He opens the door with his back, and stumbles into the cabin, dumping the roots on the table. His father was inside sitting on his bed, running a whetstone along the blade of his axe.

“Father?” Kratos grunts in reply. Atreus takes that as a sign that he should continue. “What are we going to do about the Eymd?”

“ _We_ are going to do nothing.” Kratos replies.

Atreus blinks in response. He couldn’t have heard right. “You’re not serious?”

“I am always serious,” Kratos reminds him. Atreus shakes his head.

“But - there are people out there! They need help! We can’t just do nothing!”

“I did not say that _I_ would do nothing, boy.” Kratos deadpans. “I will stay alert. If it crosses my path, I will kill it. For the time being, you will stay inside the stave.”

“Stay inside the stave?” Atreus echoes. “For how long?”

“Until the creature is no longer a threat.”

“All the time?!” Atreus blurts out, and his father raises his eyes and looks at Atreus, as if he were a bit thick. The boy feels indignation rise up in his chest. “No animals have showed up inside our stave for months! There’s no way I can hunt in here.”

“Then you will not hunt.”

“Well, what will I do then?” Atreus asks, a bit of childish petulance coming into his voice.

“Dig up roots. Chop firewood. Fix the house. I can think of more tasks for you if you wish.”

“That’s not fair!” Atreus balls up his hands into fists, and his father’s face grew a bit more stern. “You know I can fight well - you’ve been letting me go off on my own. You saw what I did to those men in the forest. I can take care of myself-”

“This is not up for discussion, boy.” Kratos warns, standing up to his full height. Atreus feels his resolve weaken a little bit as his father loomed over him, but he still persists.

“We have to do something.” Atreus insists. “You can’t just wait until you come across it-”

“Our main concern is finding food-”

“They’re killing _kids_ , we have to stop them-”

“We do not know them-”

“What if it were me?” Atreus asks, voice rising in anger and emotion. “You wouldn’t do nothing then, would you? How are they any diff-”

“ _It will not be you!”_ Kratos suddenly roars, making Atreus jump back in surprise and fear. For a moment father and son simply looks at each other, Kratos breathing hard, Atreus holding his breath. Then, Kratos closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, appearing to calm himself. When he opens his eyes, there was still fire in them, but it was controlled now. “It will _never_ be you.” He growls. “And that is why you will _stay. In. The stave.”_

Before Atreus could respond, his father pushes past him, removing his axe from its hook and holstering it on his back. He walks out of the house and threw the door open, saying nothing. The door made a hollow thud as Kratos roughly pulls it shut.

Atreus stood there just staring at the door, trying to decide if he wanted to yell or cry or just collapse. Finally, he turns to look at Mimir resting upon his stand. The head had wisely remained silent throughout the entire confrontation, but Atreus knows that he had been listening. “What was that?” Atreus asks, voice shaking a little.

“What do you think?” Mimir asks in response. Atreus shakes his head and kicks the leg of a table with his foot. All he manages to do is stub his toe.

“Ow! - I don’t- damn it - know,” Atreus sputters out, hopping on one foot over to his bed. He heavily sits down and brings his foot up to his hand, rubbing his sore toe. “I can’t believe he’s not even going to let me help. All he ever cares about is taking care of the house. And now he’s treating me like a baby!” Atreus picks up his pillow and throws it across the room. He then pauses, and considers that action might not have been the best course to prove his maturity.

“I know it’s hard little brother, but give him some time.” Mimir saya, obviously trying to comfort Atreus. “He’s scared, that’s all. You’re not gonna reassure him by charging in like a drunk goat.”

“Scared?” Atreus asks, incredulously. “That’s impossible. Father isn’t scared of anything.”

Mimir looks at him with his two glowing eyes, as if Atreus had just told a bad joke. “You don’t actually believe that, do you lad?”

Atreus doesn’t know what the proper response is. “Uh…”

“There’s a monster going around capturing children and devouring them. He’s already terrified enough that it’s going to be you without you bringing it up to him.” Mimir sounds exasperated, yet still fond. “Really laddie, do you have any sense of self-preservation?”

Atreus pauses and considers that question. To be fair, he didn’t have the best role model in that respect. He looked down at the ground, letting his eyes drift lazily over the grains of the floorboard. “...I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“And he doesn’t want _you_ to get hurt.” Mimir says. “I’m sure you can find a balance.”

Mimir might have been sure, but Atreus wasn’t.

* * *

 

Atreus stands alone in the forest, snow lightly falling, landing on his head and shoulders. The air around him is weighted down with mist and fog, and Atreus can almost feel the pressure against his body. He can barely see farther than ten feet in front of him, the mist is so thick. The trees around him are tall, imposing, their thick foliage blocking out all light from above. He’s alone.

He hears a noise, a hiss and a sick breaking, and he turns around. He can see nothing through the fog. He reaches for his bow, but his hand grasps at empty air. He then checks his belt for his knife, and finds that it’s missing as well.

Another noise rings out, a quiet hiss, almost like the forest itself is breathing. Atreus strains his eyes and sees - almost? - a ripple in the mist. Like something within there in moving. Even though he knows it could just be an animal, he feels uneasy in his stomach. His lack of weapons remind him just how vulnerable he actually is. “Who’s there?”

This time the sound that responds isn’t a quiet sigh, more like a scrape, like metal clawing against wood. It’s closer now, behind him and to his right. Atreus whips around but still sees nothing. “Father?” he asks, his heart starting to beat a little faster. He knows he’s being ridiculous.

Then, out of the corner of his eyes, he can see a small movement - something lighter than the forest around it. He could barely see the outline of a body, unable to determine where it truly ended and began. It moved like a rippling snake in murky water. It seemed pale, blending in with the mist. And, then, Atreus’s eyes lost track of it, even though he was looking right at it.

Atreus whipped his head around, trying to find the _whatever_ it was again. But only skeletal branches and white mist met his eyes. He then turned back around, and started to walk through the forest, faster this time. His foot landed on a branch, and it snapped.

And then an ear piercing shriek ripped through the forest, like metal being ripped apart. It was followed by the sound of footsteps running. And it was getting closer.

Atreus turned on his heels and bolted. He stumbled his way through the mist, but it was like his limbs were encased in tar. Every movement was exhausting, and seemed nearly impossible to complete. He willed himself to go faster, _faster,_ but he seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace. Not fast enough to get away.

He heard another screech, and his heart stopped as he realize it came from right behind him. Right after, a vice like crushing grip wrapped around his ankle, and yanked. Atreus let out a small cry as he was pulled to the ground, and brought his hands up at the last second to prevent his face from smashing into the dirt.

He looked in front of him, and there, only about a foot away, was his knife. As the grip around his ankle tightened, he reached out for his knife, fingers barely brushing the hilt. He could almost reach it… almost….

Then he was pulled back, away from the knife, and Atreus cried out “No!” as it stayed out of his reach. He turned over to face what was holding him, putting his hands up to protect his face. Then he saw the creature.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. It started down at him, mouth open wide, and Atreus saw his scared face reflected in its black eyes. He was pinned in place, couldn’t get up, couldn’t move.

Atreus kicked his legs and shook back and forth, trying to get free. But the creature held him fast, staring down at him. Atreus looked into its eyes, and saw only misery.

“ _Atreus!”_

It wasn’t going to die. It wanted more. It needed more.

“ _Atreus!”_

The grip around him crushed him, and no matter how hard Atreus fought it was to no avail. It had him. There was no getting away. He was going to die. He was going to die. He was-

“ **Atreus!”**

The world came crashing down around Atreus as his eyes fluttered opened and he took a huge gasp. Kratos steps back from Atreus, releasing his grip on the boy as Atreus jerked upright. His eyes darted around the room, trying to settle himself. Atreus takes quick, shallow breaths, and his eyes settle on his father’s face.

“What happened?” Atreus asks breathlessly. Kratos’s face was grim.

“You had a nightmare,” He replies, although it sounded like he was holding something back.

Atreus slowly looks away, eyes adjusting to the darkness. He runs a hand through his hair, noticing that it was damp with sweat. The memories of his dream come rushing back to him. A shiver runs down his spine as he remembers the dark woods, the pale figure chasing him, the terror he felt as it pinned him down. “I - I saw something,” he stammers out. “I was in the woods, and there was something-” he frowns as he tries to remember just what the creature looked like, but the details of the dream are already fading from his memory. . “It-it felt evil. And hungry.” He takes a deep breath trying to steady himself, aware of how Kratos was intensely watching him. “I think it was the Eymd.”

“That is not possible.” Kratos immediately responds. “It was a nightmare, nothing more.”

“You know that sometimes my dreams come true,” Atreus retorts. “This didn’t feel like a regular dream. It felt real-”

“Boy. Enough.” Kratos stands up, towering over Atreus. “It will not come to pass.”

“How do you know that?” Atreus shoot back. “The Eymd is still out there! It could-”

“ _Enough.”_ Kratos growls, and Atreus stops talking immediately, unconsciously pulling the blankets around him. Kratos paused, and then slowly lowers back to one knee. He gently placed a hand on Atreus’s shoulder. “It will not have you,” he says slowly, looking at Atreus in the eyes.

Atreus feels the vice around his heart lessen slightly, but there is still a fear that ran up his spine. “There’s...something I have to tell you,” he says slowly. He takes a second before continuing, thankful that Kratos simply waits for him to say more. “Before you got there, in the woods...the man said something else to me. That I was next.” He pauses, waiting for Kratos’s response, but his father says nothing. Atreus then continues. “I don’t wanna know that this thing is still out there.” His voice is soft, and pleading. “And you know you can’t keep me in the stave forever. Besides,” he adds, “I’m safer with you than here by myself.”

Kratos still says nothing, looking intensely at Atreus. His father’s silence is starting to unnerve him. But finally, Kratos lets out a long sigh, sounding tired. His fingers tighten briefly around Atreus’s shoulder, then released. “You are right.” He finally says.

Atreus isn’t expecting that. “I am?”

“We will go after the beast.” Kratos continues as if Atreus had said nothing, resting his arms on his knees. “You will stay by my side at all times. If - for any reason - I find that you’re not where I expect you to be, we will go straight home. Where you will stay, for a long time.” Kratos fixes his son with a steely gaze. “Do you understand?”

Atreus quickly nods. “I understand.”

Kratos stands back up, and Atreus can feel the beginning of adrenaline leaking into his veins. “Then rest. We leave at dawn.”

* * *

 

True to his word, Kratos and Atreus leave as soon as the beginning of yellow light touches the sky. Wordlessly Atreus pulled on his tunic and armor, checking the string of his bow to make sure that it’s still taught. His heart hammers in his chest, but for some reason seeing his father with his axe and blades calms him down.

Right before they went to exit the house, Kratos pulled Atreus to the side and looks at him sternly. “You will stay by me.” It wasn’t a question.

Once again, Atreus eagerly nodded. “Yes, sir.”

And that’s what he’s been doing for the past few hours, never more than a few steps away from Kratos. Atreus wants to go explore on his own, feeling held back by his father’s patient and cautious pace. But he knows better than to push his luck, nor does he want to be alone after his last few visions. The memory of the fear of the dream still clings to him.

However, apart from Atreus’s overactive imagination, there’s been nothing to pose a threat to the pair. The most lively thing that they found was a rabbit that Atreus shot for dinner - apart from that no man or beast has crossed their path. No tracks in the snow have even appeared. Which is why now, despite his earlier apprehension, Atreus is almost desperate for _something_ to attack them, just to break the bordrom.

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place.” Atreus suggests. He continues to trudge through the snow behind his father. They’ve been patrolling around the edge of the stave for at least an hour now, and Atreus’s legs are sore from the effort.

“Where do you think we should look?” Kratos asks. Atreus shoulders sag, knowing that he would respond that way.

“Not here.” Atreus replies, and that gets a small, deep sound out of Kratos. Atreus recognizes it a a sound of amusement, and the boy smiles a bit in response.

“Did you expect us to find the Eymd immediately?” Kratos asks, turning his head a bit to look at his son.

“No, but I didn’t think it would be this…”

“Boy, do you think hunting monsters is _boring?”_

Atreus knows better to answer that question honestly. “Of course not. Never would.” He says quickly. “I’m thrilled, in fact. Most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

This actually gets a small chuckle out of Kratos, and Atreus grins when he hears the sound. He hasn’t met anyone else other than Mother that was able to make his father laugh. For a while, after she died, smiles from both of them were few and far in between. But ever since they came back from the mountain, Atreus noticed that his smiles more and more frequent. And they were always because of Atreus.

Silence fell upon the pair again, and Atreus kept walking through the snow, following the sound of his father’s footsteps, crushing into the snow. He turned his head to look at the sky, and noticed that the sun was getting low. Atreus was thankful that his frost giant blood kept him from feeling all but the worst cold. Snow had once again begin to fall, and heavy clouds promising a potential blizzard had began to gather.

Atreus turned his eyes downwards, and focused on his footsteps stepping through the snow. It felt like he had been walking forever. Eventually Atreus just moves his limbs on auto pilot, allowing his mind to take a backseat. His father was silent, and Atreus assumed that there was nothing to be found. He just followed the noise of footsteps crunching through the snow.

Footsteps, he corrected himself. Followed the sound of footsteps through the snow. Just one pair.

Atreus stopped in his tracks. He no longer heard his father’s footsteps. He looked up. Kratos was nowhere to be seen.

A knot began to form in Atreus’s stomach. “Father?” He called out, expecting the man to show up and admonish him at any second. But there was no response. Atreus whirled around, taking in his surroundings. He was in the middle of dense woods, heavy with skinny, leafless trees. The light was low. He strained his eyes for any movement, but saw nothing.

“Father?” He called out again, louder this time. This wasn’t possible. He had just been behind him - wasn’t he? How long ago was that? Atreus looked up and saw that the sun had nearly disappeared behind the horizon. When had that happened?

Atreus’s heart began to beat quickly, not just from fear of getting a serious lecture from his father. He looked behind him and began to retrace his steps, following his footsteps in the snow. “Father!” He cried more desperately, knowing that he shouldn’t be making noise but not caring. He looked over his tracks, seeing the indentation in the snow. And then he froze.

About twenty feet from where he had turned around, his tracks had disappeared. In front of him was only fresh, undisturbed snow.

Barely thinking, Atreus immediately swung his bow off of his back and notched an arrow, ready to draw and fire at a moment’s notice. His head snapped around as he looked for a reason that his tracks had been covered - a figure hiding in the snow, maybe. But he saw nothing. Only the barren woods around him.

There was no reason to worry, Atreus tells himself. He knows these woods, he can read from the sun and the stars. But the blanket of snow hides most of the landmarks that uses to orient himself, and in his panic everything looks unfamiliar. He turns around and starts walking away from the setting sun, knowing that his house rests to the East.

He walks for a few moments, then stops in his tracks. Did he hear something? He looks around quickly, then shakes his head as he sees nothing. He can’t stop and freeze like a rabbit at the slightest sound. It’ll be much harder to make his way home once it gets dark, and the sun is quickly disappearing. He needs to move now.

He walks a little bit further, quick breath coming out in white puffs. He just needs to get home, and everything will be fine. Father will be mad, but as long as he’s fed and safe, that’s all that matters. He just needs to get home-

Something hard, wiry, and rough, wraps around his leg and yanks him off his feet. In shock, Atreus’s bow slips out of his hands, and it’s a good thing it does - in a second, rope is encasing him, pinning his arms and knees close to his chest. In the space of one quick moment, Atreus finds himself encased in a rough rope net, dangling off the ground.

His head is currently jammed in an awkward position next to his shoulder, but out of the corner of his eye he can see movement. Without thinking, he starts squirming his right hand to the knife by his belt. His arm is pinned by his torso, and the small movement to reach his night takes intense effort.

“Finally got the brat,” he can hear a voice say. Atreus ignores it. The only thing that matters right now is getting free. His fingers reach the hilt of his knife, and he pries it out of his belt. Using just the motion he can get from his wrist, he starts sawing away at the knife.

“Get him down from there,” someone else says. Atreus keeps sawing frantically at the rope, feeling the fibers start to break. He’s almost through -

His hand falls into empty air as a strand of the net breaks. He kicks with his leg, and creates a wider hole, and then tumbles out of it. He hits the ground on his back first, and pain explodes around him. All the air is pushed out of his lungs, and the world around him blurs as his eyes quickly fill with tears.

Before Atreus can center himself, a crushing grip is grabbing him by the upper arm and pulls him to his feet. Atreus is still holding onto the knife, and makes to stab at his attacker’s face, but the attack grips his wrist with his other free hand. The attacker’s face is like the others: gaunt, ragged, with charcoal smeared around the eyes and mouth. “Do something!” He spits at someone behind Atreus.

Atreus turns his head around, and sees the blunt end of a weapon coming straight towards his temple. Before he can react it hits him on the side of the head. He feels pain, and then there is only darkness.

* * *

 

The first thing Atreus notices is the pounding in his head, like someone is striking inside his skull. Then he feels something tight holding his wrists together, and something else binding his legs and toros. Then, the ground moving underneath him.

He opens his eyes, and the sun has set. He can see only barren trees above him. He moves his head around, and sees that he’s on a sled, tied to it with a couple of thick ropes. His wrists are in front of him, also bound. Atreus cranes his head back as much as he can, and sees someone pulling the sled. They’re moving across the snow quickly, as if Atreus weighs nothing. He looks in front of him, and sees another man, with the same face paint as the others. He’s carrying a thick, heavy sword made of solid steel.

Atreus swallows, trying to keep himself calm. It’s gonna be okay. Sure - the situation isn’t great. He’s kidnapped and being taken somewhere by people who probably want to murder him. But it’s gonna be okay. Father has for sure noticed his absence, and Atreus knows that any moment now he’s going to come and save him. Kratos has never let him down before.

He struggles experimentally against his bonds, and finds that they have little give. Whoever tied him down did it well. The man in front of him notices Atreus struggling. “Stop it,” he says sharply. “You’re not getting out, so you might as well not even try.”

“Where are you taking me?” Atreus asks, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

“To the Eymd,” is all the man says in reply. He looks off into the distance, as if seeing something important.

“You don’t have to do this,” Atreus says, doing his best to make his voice calm and assured. “I know there’s another way. Whatever the Eymd gives you - you can find another way.”

“We don’t need another way.”

“I can help you-”

“We don’t need your help, brat.” The man pulling the sled speaks for the first time, and his voice is low and rough. “Not after you killed our own.”

Atreus stops talking after that. He thinks it’s in his best interest.

After a few more minutes of walking to the snow, they finally enter a clearing. Atreus’s heart drops as he sees a shape up in the trees - the same stick figure that he had seen in the past. As the sled pulls further into the clearing, Atreus sees more and more of the stick figures in the trees.

The sled stops, and three men come into view - Atreus assumes there must have been more people in front of the sled that he couldn’t see. One of them leans down and gets close enough to Atreus that the boy can feel his hot breath. “We’re gonna untie you know. Try anything, and you’ll lose one of those pretty eyes.” The man holds a knife up right next to Atreus’s face, and Atreus strains his eyes with the effort of trying to see the knife in focus. “Got it?”

Atreus nods. “Got it.”

The man quickly slices through the bonds holding him to the sled, and then grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him up. He then roughly turns Atreus around and wraps an arm around Atreus’s neck, pinning him in place. Atreus now faces the clearing, but the metal tree that normally accompanies the Eymd is absent.

Another man walks over to Atreus, and pushes up his sleeve. He grabs Atreus’s arm and twists it as much as he can with his hands still bound, until the inside of Atreus’s forearm is exposed. The pressure hurts. Then, with his free hand, the man grabs the knife from his belt.

Atreus starts to squirm and kick, knowing what’s about to happen. “Hold him.” The man with the knife says, and another arm wraps around his chest, keeping him in place. A third figure comes up to Atreus, holding a small bowl.

The boy can’t help but watch as the knife approaches the inside of his arm. A small whimper escapes him as the tip of the knife slices a vertical line from just below his elbow to just above his wrist. The cut is swallow, but long, and burns against the cold air. The third man holds a bowl out under Atreus’s arms, collecting his blood as it drips down. Atreus doesn’t want to know what they’re gonna use it for.

“Stop-” He chokes out through gritted teeth, and thankfully a few seconds late his arm is released, and the man holding the bow walks away. The pain remains, however, and Atreus blinks rapidly as tears fill his eyes. A bit of blood continue to stream down Atreus’s arm, making his hands slippery.

He fixes his attention on the man holding the bowl full of blood. He walks to the center of the clearing, footsteps crunching softly in the snow. When he gets to the center he holds the bowl out, and starts chanting in a language Atreus doesn’t recognize. He can make out a few words as his brain starts to translate - offering, summon, thanking the Eymd for its protection against the winter.

Then the man tips the bowl down, allowing the blood to fall into the snow, staining it. He takes a few steps back, and waits. Atreus wonders if that was it.

It’s not.

After a moment, Atreus hears a tremendous cracking sound, like when Father’s fight with Baldur split the very ground around them. Then, something shiny breaks out of the ground, and starts to grow upwards. Atreus’s mouth drops open as the metal tree starts to form, expanding at an incredible rate as it stretches above. The branches reach outwards, forming in a sharp point at the end.

Now Atreus is definitely worried. He knows what happens next.

The moment they start to drag him over to the tree, Atreus comes alive, pulling his legs up to his chest and kicking at whatever he can. The men shout and one of them tries to wrap his arms around Atreus’s legs, but all he he gets is a foot in the face. The man with his arms around Atreus tries to pull him over to to the tree, but Atreus wraps his legs around one of the man’s legs. The next step he takes, they both go tumbling to the ground.

Atreus lands under the man, and all the air is pushed out of his lungs. “Brat!” The man spits, but whatever he was about to say next is cut short as Atreus squirms onto his back, and kicks the man in between the legs. Seeing him curl up in pain brings a bit of satisfaction to Atreus.

But the satisfaction disappears when strong fingers wrap around his throat, and pull him upright. Atreus’s eyes widen as his ability to breathe disappears, and he frantically grabs at the fingers around his neck. As much as he struggles however, he’s not able to loosen the grip at all.

Then, a sharp stinging blow lands on his face, and Atreus’s bound hands fall to the side. He can’t tell who’s holding him, or where they are. His kicks his feet out of pure desperation as his desire for air grows even stronger, his lungs burning with a desperate need to inhale.

Finally, he grip disappears, and Atreus inhales a huge breath, blinking rapidly to try and clear the tears in his eyes. He’s no longer in the same spot, now closer to the center of the clearing. There’s a man on either side, holding his arms, and two in front of him. He tries to get his bearings, but all he can focus on is filling his lungs with air.

“Get him up there,” someone says, and then Atreus is being lifted up, and something reaches behind him-

Pain. Blinding pain. Atreus shrikes as a sharp branch of the tree is driven through his shoulder, piercing through skin and muscles. Then men holding his shoulder push, and the spike is driven even furthur through his shoulder, coming out the other side. Atreus can only let out a small moan, and looks down. The branch of the tree protruding through his shoulder is coated with his blood, which drips liberally down the front of his tunic.

Then the two men holding him up step back, and however bad the pain was before, it’s worse now. Atreus can’t hold back another scream as his full body weight pulls against the spike, driving the branch only further into his flesh.

He frantically tries to grab the branch and pull himself off of it, but can’t grasp it without cutting his hands. His own blood is pouring down the front of his tunic, hot and metallic. His breath is coming in short, wet gasps, which do little to actually give him the air he needs.

“Are you gonna knife him?” He hears someone ask. Atreus whips his head around, looking for whoever is going to approach him.

“No…” he mumbles, not even knowing he’s speaking aloud. He can’t die. Not here. Father is coming. He has to he will _he has too._

After a few breathless moments, one man shakes his head. “No. We wait. Let the Eymd feed off of him. Besides,” he tosses a vicious glance at Atreus, “Let him suffer for killing the others.”

He’s not gonna die. Not now. Not yet. Atreus resumes his attention to his breathing, trying to remember what father taught him. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. Focus on something other than the pain_. Of course, when the only things around him are his captors, the snow, and the giant tree he’s hooked on, that’s easier said than done. He looks down, and notices that his blood has now trickled down all the way into the snow.

It’s strangely beautiful, the contrast of red against white. That’s something he can look at, he thinks, as his head feels lighter and lighter. Just look at the red and white. Not at the spike protruding out of his shoulder. He can do that. Just focus on the snow, and not the burning, searing pain coming from his shoulder. Easy.

Atreus doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but by the time someone speaks again, he notices that the stain of blood on the snow has grown, about as wide as Father’s shield. “Why isn’t it here yet?” someone asks.

There’s a humph, and someone replies. “Not enough anguish. Kid’s not scared enough.”

Then someone pushes his leg, and the movement sends another shockwave of pain through Atreus’s body. He lets out a gasp as one of the men speak. “Hey. Don’t tell me you actually think you’re making it out of here.”Atreus fights to focus on the man talking to him, but his vision is blurry, and he can’t make out any features. The charcoal around the eyes and mouth contort into a grotesque face. “You’re going to die. There’s no way around it.”

“No I’m not,” Atreus mumbles, his voice coming out a rough, cracked whisper. “Not gonna’ die.”

He hears a laugh, strangely faint against his ears. “You’re only alive now because the Eymd wants a feast. To gorge on suffering. Killing you soon would ruin that.” Something pokes at his midsection. “The sooner you give up hope, the sooner it’s over.”

Atreus closes his eyes, and thinks of his father. His huge, calloused hands that can be rough and warm at the same time. The smell of the cabin, must, and pine and ash all in one. The way Kratos smiles at Atreus. The safety he feels next to his father.

He can’t give in. There’s no way. So Atreus summons the last of his strength, and forces himself to smile. His teeth feel strangely slick, and he tastes blood. “You really messed up.” He says, having to force out each word from the pit of his stomach.

“Oh?” One of the men asks, faking interest.

“My father is coming.” Atreus replies. “And when he gets here, he’s gonna tear you apart.” His shoulder burns. Everything burns. He’s probably lost too much blood to come back at this point. He doesn’t care.

A chorus of laughs echos around him. “Brat still thinks Daddy’s coming!” Someone barks out. “That’s precious.” Another prod to his chest, and Atreus lets out another small cry of pain as the movement jostles his shoulder. “Get this straight, kid. No one is coming for you. No one is going to find you. No one is going to help you. You’re on your own. And your fucking _Daddy,”_ Atreus can see the man now, spitting words, “sure as Hel isn’t going to come in here and save you.”

Which is the exact moment that a blade shoots out from the forest, pierces the man through the chest, and drags him by a chain back into the woods. There’s a agonized, anguished scream, the sound of flesh tearing, and then silence.

Atreus barks out a laugh, and he sees the remaining three men turn to look at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t even care if he dies now. This is worth it. Atreus grins, and he wonders how ghoulish he looks with blood coating his teeth. “You’re screwed.”

Everything afterwards happens very quickly.

Kratos bursts out of the woods, blood across his face and chest. Atreus’s vision is blurry, but he can see his father’s blades with fire wrapping around them, can hear the screams of the men, the wet tearing of flesh. It’s strangely comforting. His shoulder throbs terribly, but for some reason it feels like a duller pain, belonging to someone else. He closes his eyes, and waits.

Sure enough, after what only feels like a few moments, he feels a hand gently touch his elbow, barely touching him. He opens his eyes, and sees his father’s face. Even suspended on the hook, he’s at eye level with Kratos. Atreus looks into his father’s amber eyes, and they are tinged with red. Atreus feels something wet on his cheeks, and realizes that he’s crying. It didn’t feel like his body. He could barely feel his body at all.

A hand gently touches his cheek, and he focuses on it, almost like it’s the last thing still connecting him to his body. The rest of him feel like he’s floating. “Atreus….” His father whispers, voice soft and heavy with immense pain. Then, more controlled: “I need to get you down from here.”

Atreus hears himself give some sort of reply, but what exactly he says he can’t tell. Everything feels so far away. His father says something, and Kratos places a hand on Atreus’s shoulder, and another hand behind him.

Then, in one quick movement, he pulls Atreus off of the branch. Atreus’s eyes open wide as he feels the spike get ripped from his shoulder, but he only lets out a small cry of pain in reply. His limbs can’t hold himself up at all, but Kratos gently lowers him to the ground, trying to jostle him as little as possible. Atreus’s shoulder continues to burn, and he closes his eyes as the pain starts to fade away. It’s nice having his eyes closed. Everything hurts less.

“Atreus!” The boy’s eyes open at Kratos’s sharp voice, and he sees his father looking down at him. “You _cannot_ fall asleep. Do you understand me?” His voice is sharp and desperate.

“Uh huh,” Atreus mumbles, slightly annoyed. He doesn’t wanna stay awake. Everything hurts when he’s awake. He feels something being wrapped around him, tightening around his shoulder, but now he barely feels the pain at all. He can barely even feel his own body.

He sees something green in Kratos’s fist, and then the next moment a wave of healing magic washes over him. He gasps as it hits him, and then - all the pain is much sharper, he’s much more awake, and Atreus doesn’t like this one bit.

“They were...wrong…” Atreus whispers, blabbing. His father shushes him but it’s like the words are coming straight from his mind to his mouth. “Thought...the Eymd...would show….”

“Quiet boy, save your strength,” Kratos orders, but Atreus continues.

“Not enough...pain,” Atreus whispers, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment. “Never...gave up hoping...you’d come.”

Kratos stills, pausing his frantic movement to bind Atreus’s shoulder. He looks at Atreus, and then gently touches Atreus’s cheek. He feels something wet to the touch - maybe blood  but he doesn’t care. Kratos’s eyes seem to burn into Atreus’s soul. “I will _always_ come for you.” The words are heavy with so many things - guilt, determination, pain. Then, slowly, he places a hand under Atreus’s arms and knees, and lifts him up in one quick movement. “It is over now,” he says ressauringly.

Except, nothing in their lives is ever that simple.

A piercing sound rips through the woods, like metal being torn apart. Atreus instinctively pushes his head against his father’s chest as the sound rips through his ears. “What-” Atreus gasps, and then he sees. He knows. It’s been in his dreams after all.

The Eymd places one impossibly long, pale limb into the clearing. Its hands are long, knobby, with sharp talons on the end. It slowly moves into view, like a spider, limbs articulating one by one, crawling on all fours. The Eymd’s body is thin, spine grotesquely protruding through the back. But the worst part is its face.

Pale, long, jaw nearly split in half by the length of its teeth, and soulless, hollow, black eyes. Atreus now knows what the Eymd’s followers were trying to emulate with the charcoal around the eyes and mouth. It has no pupils but looks directly at Atreus and Kratos. Atreus knows what it’s here for.

“No…” He whispers. Kratos’s body has gone completely tense and still. “No, it’s not supposed to be here, it didn’t come.”

Kratos says nothing in reply. The Eymd slowly stalks closer to them, moving like no creature Atreus has ever seen. It’s big. And sharp. But more than that, it feels Atreus with a primal fear that he hasn’t felt before. And even the feeling of his father’s arms wrapped around him does little to calm it.

Kratos slowly lowers Atreus back to the ground, never once taking his eyes off the Eymd. Atreus fights the urge to cling onto his father, keeping him close. He wants to yell at his father, _we need to run, just get back home, away from that thing._ But he can barely form words, barely speak, his body failing him.

“I will take care of this.” Kratos says softly, but there is steel in his voice. He steps away from Atreus, and this time draws his axe from his back, frost wrapping around it from handle to blade.

The Eymd takes a step closer, and lets out another ear-splitting scream. Its mouth almost seems to be split it half, the white skin splitting and stretching. Then it leaps forward, claws drawn, and Kratos greets it in kind.

* * *

 

Later, Atreus can only remember a few things.

Blood on his face - who’s? He can’t tell - as he’s being carried by Kratos through the snow, their gait unsteady yet quick.

The screams of both the Eymd and his father roaring in his ears, and Atreus not having a clue who’s hurting who.

Kratos’s voice, saying harsh words to Atreus, but Atreus can understand nothing, despite the desperation in his father’s voice.

Waking up, seeing the ceiling of his house, and falling right back into a fitful sleep.

Trying to swallow something he’s being given to drink, and a gentle “good” from his father when he keeps it down.

But now, as he opens his eyes, for the first time he can see without his vision blurring, and form a coherent thought. There’s soft light across the wood ceiling, it must be at least late morning. He can hear the quiet crackle of a fire going, and smell herbs and spices in the air. He turns his eyes to the side, and sees Mimir on his stand, eyes closed. There’s bloody rags on the floor, and a bowl of water next to his bed. He’s underneath both his father’s blanket and his own, and the warmth and weight comforts him.

He shifts a bit experimentally, and feels an ache in his shoulder. He slowly sits up - and his body is sore, aching, and he wants nothing more than to collapse back in bed. But he forces himself to stay upright, and pulls at his tunic to see under his shirt.

There’s a line of stitches running from about the tip of his shoulder to just above  his breastbone. Atreus can tell already by the way the skin puckers that it’s going to leave a scar. However, it looks halfway healed, not raw and red like Atreus would expect.

“Laddie?” Atreus turns his head to see two golden eyes looking at him - his movements must have awoken Mimir up. He looks concerned.

“How long have I been asleep?” Atreus asks. He has the feeling he’s been missing time, but needs to check to make sure.

“Three days.” The head replies, and then his tone softens. “We weren’t sure if you were going to make it for a moment there.”

This catches Atreus off guard. For a moment, the fear, the panic all of it rushes back to him - being on the hook and literally watching himself bleed out, and incapable to do anything to stop it. Then, another crucial detail comes back to him, and his eyes widen. “Father! The Eymd! Is he-?”

But then Atreus hears heavy footsteps, and the door to the cabin opens. Kratos steps in, and the moment he sees Atreus awake and upright, he rushes over to his side. Kratos takes Atreus’s head in his hands, and the boy lets himself be examined, Kratos turning his head back and forth. “How are you feeling?” Kratos asks after a moment, his voice quiet.

“Like someone stuck me on a hook and left me to die,” Atreus replies, figuring that honesty is probably best. But the flash of pain he sees in Kratos’s eyes makes him realize it might be too soon for jokes. “Um. My shoulder hurts, but it’s a lot better. Mostly tired.”

Kratos lets out a low _humph_ , and Atreus is unsure of what to say. He feels that so many things between them are unsaid, and he doesn’t know how to approach any of them. Atreus looks over at his father, and notices a bevy of healing cuts across his chest and face. None of them look fresh, but Atreus knows that his father heals quickly. “Are you hurt?”

“I am fine.” Kratos replies automatically. Something defensive about his tone, however, makes Atreus furrow his brow.

“The Eymd- did you-?”

“It is dead,” Kratos replies, with certainty in his voice. Atreus feels a tension he didn’t realize he was holding leave him. He remembers roars of rage, the sound of of the Leviathan axe striking flesh, and he decides he’s rather not know the details of the fight.

Silence falls over them, and whatever Atreus goes to say, it doesn’t seem right. There’s a gap of things unsaid, but Atreus has no idea how to begin to approach it. He remembers how this entire mess started in the first place, and his eyes drift down in shame. “...I’m sorry.”

Kratos raises a single, questioning eyebrow. “For what, boy?”

And just like that, everything inside Atreus comes spilling out. “You were right, I should have stayed within the stave, I shouldn’t have wandered away, I don’t know how it happened but-”

“Enough,” Kratos says, his tone commanding, but Atreus can’t seem to stop. He needs his father to know.

“- I didn’t give up, I didn’t let them scare me, I don’t know why the Eymd showed up but I _promise_ I trusted you-”

“Atreus, breathe,” Kratos says sternly, placing his hand on Atreus’s cheek. At the contact, Atreus closes his mouth shut, and stills. The feeling of his father’s warm hand makes him relax a bit. He closes his eyes, and hears his father continue. “I do not know why the Eymd appeared. But it is dead now.” His voice leave no room for error.

Atreus hears someone clear their throat, and opens his eyes to see Mimir looking at them. Kratos draws his hand away, and looks at the head, annoyed. “Actually, I have a theory as to why it appeared.”

“Does it matter?” Kratos says roughly, but Atreus is already intrigued.

“What is it?” He asks, cutting off Kratos. Mimir’s face turns pensive.

“Well, the Eymd appears when it detects a source of suffering, as you will.” There’s something odd in Mimir’s tone that he can’t quite place. “Its followers summon the Eymd with a certain victim in mind. But if the Eymd can’t find its prey, it’s likely because it has better things to hunt. Creatures that are suffering more.”

“But…” Atreus shakes his head in confusion. “It did show up, just...later.”

Mimir tries to sound nonchalant. “Well, maybe it found its victim after all. The source of great anguish and suffering.”

And then, it all makes sense.

In a flash, memories that had been hazy before become clear. Atreus remembers the expression on his father’s face as he pulled him off of the hook, eyes wide and tinged with red, hands shaking. He remember his father carrying him back to the house, limping from his own wounds, and begging Atreus to keep his eyes open.

_Atreus, look at me. Do you hear me boy? Look at me. I will not lose you. I cannot._

He remembers Kratos stitching up his shoulder while he lay barely mobile, only whimpering quietly as the needle pierced through his flesh.

_You are doing well. Just a bit more. It is almost done. Stay awake, boy._

He remembers lying underneath blankets, shivering from a fever as his body fights to heal, his father holding a bowl of medicine up to his lips. Atreus wasn’t conscious enough to form any words, but he remembers the way his father slowly stroked his hair.

He remembers waking up once, and seeing his father sitting in a chair, still awake, watching Atreus for any sign of discomfort.

Atreus looks over at Kratos. He is staring off into the distance, still kneeling next to Atreus’s bed, arms resting on his knees. The expression on his face is unreadable.

Slowly Atreus slips off his bed, and lands right in front of his father. Kratos looks at him. “Boy?”

And then Atreus reaches out and hugs his father, wrapping his arms around Kratos’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. His father smells like pine, and metal. For a moment, Kratos doesn’t move, and Atreus worries that he’s made a mistake. But then he feel two strong arms wrap around him, enveloping him in safety and warmth. Kratos bows his head a bit so that it’s resting against Atreus’s.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” Atreus mumbles quietly. He feels the arms around him tighten a bit protectively. He lets himself sit there for a moment, being able to relax for the first time in what feels like ages.

Finally, he feels his father tense a bit, and Atreus releases his hold to let him pull away. Kratos stands up and looks fondly at Atreus. It’s the “I love you so much but I have issues with words, so I’m just gonna look at you for an uncomfortably long time and then tell you to do something” look. Atreus knows that look.

Finally, Kratos turns back around. “Boy. Get back in bed. You need to rest.”

Atreus can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

Later on, Atreus thinks.

He’s glad the Eymd is dead. Although nightmares still plague him for the following days, eventually they go away. He heals, and soon enough he’s back out hunting in the snow. He clings a bit closer to Kratos for a while, and his father doesn’t seem to mind.

The Eymd had to die. But, as he tells Mimir while whitling his arrows, “It’s not like it’s the Eymd’s fault. It was made to be evil. It was born that way.” He sets another arrow to the growing pile of sharped ones, and picks up another stick. “It was hungry, just like us.”

Mimir frowns. “Children were killed in its name. Why, it nearly killed you. Don’t tell me you think no one is to blame.”

Atreus shakes his head as he scrapes the knife along the branch. “I didn’t say that.” He focuses on forming a single, sharp point. “Father hates the Gods. And they’re not great, for sure. But...the Eymd’s followers didn’t have to worship it. They didn’t have to feed it. But they did anyway.”

He sets the arrow down, and pauses in his motions. “Gods...maybe they’re born bad, and have to learn how to be good. They have all this power and no one to tell them no. But human aren’t like that. They’re supposed to be better.” A dark smile comes to his lips. “Maybe Gods and humans aren’t so different after all.”

This is why Atreus fears humans more than Gods.

**Author's Note:**

> The Eymd is a creature completely from my own imagination. I have a mental image of what it looks like, but I like leaving some things up to the reader. I had three major inspirations for this fic, namely the Netflix orignal "The Ritual," the Blair Witch Project, and Dead By Daylight.


End file.
